For Nina
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: [AT] He had clapped his hands before he even realised what he was doing, before he even realised it was impossible, without thinking of the consequences that would crash down upon him. In that moment, it just hadn't mattered. Because he had to save Nina. He just /had/ to.
1. Immortal

**A/N:** Another drabble-sequence, as I like to call them. In other words, drabble length but together they form a linear timeline and tell an overall story. I typically use prompts challenges for these, and this time it's the 100_prompts challenge on livejournal, prompt table #100-B. Prompts will be in order – though somewhat obscure at times. For example, "immortal" in this prompt is referenced through a small mention of the Philosopher's Stone. :D

* * *

**For Nina  
I. Immortal**

His limbs were tied up in strings, stiff and barely mobile and yet moving steading without his violation. They were subtle gestures: tracing out transmutation circles that flowed from his subconscious mind into hair, fur, skin and ground while his lips whispered up a cauldron of both despair and hope.

That soft braid had unravelled and mutated but he could still feel the curls under his flesh hand. That was his ground, as his mind drifted through hundreds of alchemic theories and circles, weaving them into a cohesive net that he pushed, mentally, to his palms. And through all that he whispered; still, he whispered things that made no sense to him – words dictated simply by the pull of his marionette strings. The only words he _did_ recognise were the one he heard: repeated, over and over again by a voice so broken and morphed.

'Let's play…brother.' And that last word echoed through tunnels in his mind.

The voice was unrecognisable to him now, though his heart wailed as it listened and some tears splashed onto the automail hand. It was dim though, and he forced himself to ignore it all; what mattered was what he was thinking now, those alchemic equations he was weaving into a complete transmutation.

A small part of him remembered what had brought them here: the Philosopher's Stone. Maybe, if they had never sought it, they would never have seen such a sad and horrible thing – but, if they hadn't, they also couldn't _fix_ it –

He lifted his hands from the fur, feeling a few strands of brown hair cling to his fingers, and he clapped: a strong, determined, sound that broke through the gentle murmurs of his thoughts. But when he brought his hands down – dictated, still, by those marionette strings driving him – the rhythm broke, and that single, repeated, word became a shout in his ears.

'Brother!'

But his hands had already met their target, despite the grip, tight and sharp, pulling against the puppeteer.


	2. Sway

**A/N:** So is Nina crossed with Alexander a girl or a boy now? Hmm… I'm using both pronouns since I don't think the dog part is too interested in that, and the girl part isn't too concerned right now. :D

* * *

**For Nina  
II. Sway**

The world was dull and out of focus, swaying to and fro as though it had lost all sense of balance. There was only one colour to be seen: red – splashes of red that made her/his stomach clench and her/his heart cry out.

It also made her/his feet move towards those splashes, until the overwhelming familiar and warm smell overtook her/him and she/he went closer still. Her/his nose rubbed against the fabric – coarse, and yet somehow soft as well. Words bubbled in her/his throat, feeling so strange, so scratching, and yet at the same time so _normal_.

That hand reaching for her was the same. It looked scary, but also tender and friendly and she/he wanted it to pet her/him until all her/his hair/fur sat smooth on her/his back.

But there were also other smells, and they confused her/him. Something that made him shy away from that other man – the man with the scary face that made her/his heart scream. That made her/him cringe away from the white dust on the floor – the dust that tickled her/his nose and made him want to sneeze as well.

But then that hand was touching her/him, was in her/his hair/fur, smoothing it, and her/his eyelids drooped as a tinging comfort spread through her/his body. Rain fell on her/him and she/he trembled, legs shaking unsteadily and face swaying like a droopy pendulum. Her/his jaw still clutched that cloth in her/his mouth, though now it had torn a little in her/his trembling.

And then there was a tinging too, something that pushed past the strange – almost sick – feeling and made her/him lift her/his head up, staring at the monochromatic face. Those words held no meaning for her/him…and yet, it felt as though they were very important to her/him. And so she/he said them, forced them out even though it felt as though she/he was shoving all the air from her/his stomach out. But the words came out, making her/his ears twitch.

She/he thought she/he remembered somebody else saying them. And somebody else _did_ say them thereafter – a different somebody who sounded as familiar as the red person, except without the familiar smell. His hands came faster than the other's gentle touch – but she/he thought she/he remembered this touch as well, and did not shy away. But those hands weren't reaching for her/him, but for the red person, pulling him away.

A disappointed whine erupted from her/his throat, before that was overcome by the tingling growing ever stronger and her/his vision being blotted with white.


	3. Sticks and Stones

**A/N:** A short one, but for some reason it took longer to write. And some depressed Alphonse – which is always fun to write. :D

* * *

**For Nina  
III. Sticks and Stones**

Alphonse grabbed his brother's wrists – too late. They'd already clapped, and Edward collapsed like a house of cards falling inward, like _their_ house had collapsed under the flame. But those things didn't cry, didn't bleed. They didn't have tears struggling to free themselves from lashes, or a small trickle of blood from the edge of mouth.

There was the sound of breathless, insane, laughter, and crashes and bangs above as the roof and door collapsed from two separate causes: the roof because of the alchemic reaction, the door because Brigadier General Basque Grande had just punched it in.

Alphonse could only hear the sounds of his loud voice shouting orders and questions as Nina and Alexander – or whatever they were now – were buried under tiles and mortar. And while his heart screamed, he couldn't cry at all, but just hold his brother in his arms and protect him from the falling roof. Just like he had held his brother that day years ago, drenched in blood and soaked with the knowledge of their failure…

But this time it was different. Or they same. He'd just tried the impossible, because Tucker had said it was impossible, just like getting their bodies back was impossible…

His large armoured frame shuddered as tiles fell upon and around. Shuddered from tears he could not shed and things he wished he could make possible – if not for other doors that had sealed hope shut.

And there was no Edward awake to reassure him. There was only Tucker, still laughing hysterically in a corner, safe from the falling tiles. There was only Basque Grande spitting out curses and orders and questions that nobody could answer. There was only Mustang snapping his fingers and turning the remaining falling tiles into a rain of dust, and Hawkeye, gun bared, trying to persuade him outside with her firm, even voice.

She reminded him of Pinako in a way, and he craned his head up, looked at her, and then followed mechanically.


End file.
